Oh Right, It's Ric Now
by QueenVictoria88
Summary: Batman's losing people left and right. Selina left him at the altar, Tim went off, Damian is with the Titans, he banished Jason and now there's Ric. Jason confronts Ric
1. Chapter 1

_Batman's losing people left and right. Selina left him at the altar, Tim went off, Damian is with the Titans, he banished Jason and now there's Ric. Jason confronts Ric_

After Barbara's intrusion into his life, Ric keeps getting messages from others he doesn't remember. All having the same thing to say about how they want to help him remember someone he doesn't know. Dick Grayson is beginning to sound like the name Jesus he's hearing it so much. Although each time, it sounds like a stranger that draws a blank to his mind. All he remembers is waking up in a warm bed with a kind older man standing above him. Truthfully that is his earliest memory and repeating that fact is getting him nowhere. He doesn't want this, he doesn't want them. Everything feels foreign and he needs to figure out how to move on. He turns down an alley on his travels through the city. He stops cold when he hears a rustling. He looks up to see a shadow figure perching on a fire escape. The man jumps down and lands with grace. Ric begins to move backwards while stiffening and preparing for a fight.

The man in the shadows slows and comes into the light. "Heard you lost your memory." He says as he removes his face mask that was covering his mouth.

Ric relaxes. "Not another one? Which one are you?" he scoffs

"Really? The outfit doesn't give it away?" Jason asks while rubbing his hands over his front admiring his costume. "I've made some changes, but—"

"—Red Hood? You're Jason Todd."

"Haven't lost your intelligence." Jason moves around Ric checking him out.

Ric spins with him looking him over too not sure what he's doing. "Guess not. What are you doing here?"

Jason stops when he sees his scar "Wanted to see if it was true. The Golden boy's quit."

"Because I'm not him." Ric says adamantly as he folds his arms. And Jason can feel the exhaustion in that turn of phrase.

Jason pulls his gun out non threateningly and starts playing with it. "Right.. you're Ric, now. He chuckles and waves the gun around as he continues back to where he once was standing "You know, you leaving him is pretty great." He grins.

Ric's eyes narrow "How so?"

"Well let's see, he's banished me, his protege left for college, his demon spawn joined the Titans. His fiancé left him at the altar and now, his golden favorite child is erased and has abandoned him and his cause. And I get to stand by and watch him be alone." Jason said it as easily as if he was reciting a grocery list and reveling in the truth of how Batman has been ditched.

"Right, they said you're the angry one." There's a silence and Jason's dead stare doesn't flinch. Ric continues. "Maybe that's why I can't seem to shake the ones who are left. They're driving me insane, especially the red head. Showing up and lecturing me about how Dick Grayson was this beacon and how I have to remember."

Jason crosses his arms and the gun is now pointed towards the wall "Not surprised she wouldn't let you just walk away. You two are the shakespearian couple."

"Not interested. So what do I do to get rid of them? Any ideas?"

"Yeah…" Jason lifts his gun and points it at Ric "…start killing people, like I do. They'll definitely want you gone if you do that." He lowers the gun and utters a sick laugh.

Ric tilts his head and a wry smile crossed his lips.

"Ya know…" Jason re-holsters his gun "..it will suck if this is permanent. Dick Grayson wasn't my favorite person, but they're right when they say you helped a lot of people. The city of Bludhaven is shitting itself with their climbing crime rates in Nightwing's absence." He pulls a grappling hook from behind himself "But I don't give a fuck about that. Nor do I care about the Batclan, I'm just going to enjoy their suffering while I can. See ya around Ric." Jason shoots off a line and is gone.

Ric is left standing in the alley watching Red Hood zip away. He looks at his phone as it buzzes again.

Message: I don't care what we have to call you. Please just come back to us. We'll help—

Ric tosses the phone in a dumpster and continues towards the street.


	2. Overwhelmed is an Understatement

He finally opens his eyes gently. Not thinking much of anything. Just the pain he feels that's in his head, his neck, a constant throbbing. His eyes focus. He's in a hospital. He's suddenly aware that he's choking. There's a tube. It hurts. So much pressure. Light burning his eyes, pressure in his chest and the choking. The coughing, the spit, the choking. Then help appears. A woman in a white coat with glasses. Hand on the tube, barking orders at him. He can't really make it out. He recognizes the word relax. He obeys. He's too tired to fight. She then orders him to cough. He does. The tube slides out in a one painful sobering tug and the coughing continues. He tries to sit up. He can't. Eyes blurry from all the tears running down from all the coughing. He still can't hear much of anything. Things are calming. Then a older man in a suit appears. He has a gentle, but wrinkled face, balding head and the softest smile. Who? He wonders. The older man speaks. He can only make out a few words. "Mhmhmhmh hmhmmh You mhmhm okay. MHhmhmh hmhmh It is going to be alright. Mhmhmh We are here."

He tries to speak, but he can't, this is most frightening. The older man's eyes soften. "You were shot."

He doesn't understand. He's so tired. He closes his eyes, all the throbbing. He succumbs to the weight he feels pulling him back.

Later. He opens his eyes again, but this time it's because he hears voices. Voices he doesn't recognize. He's in a hospital to his surprise. Wait no. He remembers, he was in a hospital before. With an older man. Who said he was shot. He could barely hear him. Not now though. Now, he can hear just fine. His head hurts. Man does it ever just keep pounding. The light is still bright. This time he goes to speak and he does, another surprise, "What happened? Who's there?" His throat is hoarse and it burns. He still can't sit up.

"You're awake." This time a stern man in a suit is there. His face is all twisted up in worry and there is no smile. He feels his hand get scooped up and he realizes the man is holding on to it. "Don't try to talk if you can't. Don't try anything. You're alive and that's all that matters." He says. More like orders.

"No." The words come out like a whisper. "No…where…am I?" "What happened?"

"You were shot in the head. The Doctors weren't sure you would be able to speak if you woke up." And as the man's face, never breaking, says these horrifying truths a Red-headed younger woman appears on the other side of him. Eyes desperate. Gently lacing her fingers into his as she squeezes his hand.

"You gave us such the scare, boy wonder. Never do that again."

It was confusing. He must have looked confused because the stern man and the red head looked at each other.

"Who are you?" He carefully asks.

They went back to looking at each other.

Then he realizes aloud, "Who am I? Wait, who shot me?"

Before the sadness in her eyes and the anger in his could be verbalized, the Doctor is back. "Mr. Grayson. I'm Dr. Alister. You were shot in the head two weeks ago. You are fortunate to be alive, breathing on your own and talking. Unfortunately, part of your temporal lobe was damaged and we did all we could in surgery. I'm afraid there will be a myriad of side effects. Such as possibly permanent or temporary memory loss. Issues with your sensory or motor functions, neurological issues. The recovery will be long and hard, but I promise you, if you are willing to give it everything you've got, I will work twice as hard to get as much function back as possible."

He blinks, overwhelmed is such an understatement. What the hell happened. "I… I don't know who I am."

As the red head begins to rub his hand he feels it, a hospital bracelet. He looks down and reads aloud. "Ric. Grayson."


	3. May or May Not be permanent

"Listen, we'll be right back. Dr. Alister is going to check you out right now. Then we'll be back in." The red head says with a sweet voice. He can hear there is concern there.

"Okay?" He responds unsure of what else he would say.

The two step out of the room and shut the door.

Barbara's stare too much for Bruce. "Don't look at me like that."

"He doesn't know who he is!"

"Is he awake again?" Alfred then rejoining them, looking hopeful.

"Yes. He's awake. He's finally talking and I believe actually able to hear now, but he has no memory of—"

"—We don't know anything yet. It has only been two weeks." Bruce snaps.

"I think it is a miracle Master Dick is alive at all. Patients is—"

"—I can't." Bruce interrupts Alfred. "Now that he's awake, I'm following the lead I have on the shooter."

"Master Bruce, he needs you." Alfred pleads, but Bruce is already down the hallway.

"So much for needing my help!" Barbara cries out after him.

"I'm not the one who needs you." Bruce yells back as he pushes through the double doors and is gone.

Barbara turns to Alfred who is gazing at her ever so innocently. "He's right. Let's check on him."


	4. Mirror shows another face

After four months of surviving the aftermath of seizures, mood disorders, inter cranial swelling; of physical therapy and getting him to walk, write, eat again all on his own. He still has no recollection of Dick Grayson. That is approximately 120 days of stories about Dick Grayson, orphaned, adopted, doing incredible things, turning to vigilantism, knowing hundreds of people. Of friendships, heartbreaks, almost weddings, fights, scars, broken bones, thousands of injuries, forgotten jokes. Of Bruce's house, Bruce's cars, Bruce's alter egos, Bruce's side kicks. Dick Grayson's old room, former hang outs, former best friends, former lovers, former apartments, former teams. All the criminals, all the grudges, all the vengeance, the training, the sacrifices, the mantle that was first Robin and now Nightwing. All the nick names, the phone numbers, the skills, the nuances belonging to years of a person, of Dick Grayson. This identity that was still just stories he couldn't comprehend or relate to.

"Oh Dick, I—"

"Please, for the thousandth time. Call me Ric. The stories are great, but I still don't know who Dick Grayson is."

"I'm sorry it's just—"

"I'm sorry."

"No, please you're right."

"Look. You all seem great, but it's not working."

That's how he decided to start the conversation. The one where he planned on letting them down gently that he was leaving. That it was too hard to live with this ghost of who he was suppose to be. The he felt more dead than alive walking in the life of someone he didn't remember, couldn't remember. But that's not how it went though.

"No one is keeping you here!"

"Damn straight! Don't come looking for me! Don't call, don't text. If you care about me at all, just let me go."

He had to. He had to escape that house, the pictures that didn't reflect the mirror he looked into. Had to escape the looks. The looks of hope, of desires, of disappointment, of denial. He had to figure out who he is now because it's been 120 days and all he knows is, he was once an acrobat. But now he's someone else with a shaved scarred head and a hospital bracelet that says Ric Grayson, age 24 y/o/m. It was time to figure out his future.


End file.
